Shadow Hunter (Chapter 2)

[rosiphelee]

I thought I'd pop the new chapter up here, as Elfy's down. This should make sense of the dolls in my earlier entry.


Chapter Two: Beginnings

8.25am, September 05, 2024, The Oracle Girls Grammar, London Road, Wasingham, Kennetshire, Southern England

She was cold again, as cold as that day, in the mist. For a moment she thought this girl in front of her, with her blood-red hair and her grey eyes, was some illusion summoned out of her own nightmares and given a too-familiar face. Then she looked again and realised the expression was wrong. The face she remembered had never looked so sullen, even in death. Of course, there had been so much blood it was impossible to tell exactly…

“Em?” Ros said puzzled and she dragged herself back to the present. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, turning away from the new girl in relief. “I’m great. How’s you?”

“I’m alright,” Ros said and moved her eyebrows up and down in some signal Emli didn’t understand until someone behind her drew in an affronted breath. Oh yeah, talk to the new girl. She turned back and offered her hand, though she suspected it was still clammy with shock.

“I’m Emli. Pleased to meet you.” But she couldn’t look her in the eye. Those grey eyes were too familiar for comfort.

After a moment Azella clasped her hand, frowning a little and said, “Delighted, I’m sure.”

Oh, grand, Emli thought. Not only does she have the face of my worst nightmare but she’s as posh as pork roast.

“Right,” Ros said nervously. “Other people. Um, Romy, Ellie, Ayesha, Tasha – guys, this is Azella.”

Emli settled back into her seat and grabbed her bag, using the excuse of sorting through it to bend over and catch her breath. She had to stay calm. It wasn’t safe to react. But it wasn’t fair. She’d been looking forward to this year, despite exams and everything and now this. And the only person the awful creature knew was Ros so she’d be stuck with her all year. The only way she coped was by squashing it all down and never thinking about it and how was she meant to do that if she was constantly being reminded?

“Your hair’s so cool,” Romy said, with a clear note of jealousy. “I bet the teachers won’t let you keep it like that.”

“I don’t see what they can do,” Little Miss Posh said. “It’s perfectly natural.”

Emli didn’t doubt her.

“That won’t stop them.”

“They already know. My guardian explained at my interview. Are they very strict?”

“They’re okay,” Ros said but Romy said glumly, “Fascist pigs.”

Just because they caught you selling fags to Year Eight, Emli thought sourly and looked up, darting a quick glance at the window to check her reflection looked calm..

“The teachers are fascists?” Azella said, sounding genuinely alarmed.

“Not literally,” Ros said.

Emli grinned. It was rather comforting to know the girl was a moron. Then she considered it and thought, Either that or she comes from a very long way away. Now there was an interesting thought. It would explain the name and the confusion, if not the attitude. It also meant that she had nothing to do with that day. Nothing at all.

Ros had left her with Romy and Tasha and was slipping back towards Emli. She was fiddling with her hair, which meant she was worried and Emli felt a surge of resentment. Go on, she thought. Make friends with Romy and leave Ros to me. Then nobody would need to worry.

“Em, I’m really sorry,” Ros began, “but do you mind awfully switching desks?”

Yes! I do. She shrugged.

Ros looked at her, biting her lip. “Em, please. She’s never been to England before and she doesn’t know anyone.”

“Alright,” Em said. “I’m moving.”

Ros glanced after Azella and then leant in to say, “Look, give her a chance. She’s a bit stiff at first but she’s great when she relaxes. And she’s really nervous – new school and all that.”

“When was I not giving her a chance?” Emli asked, gathering up her books.

“Emli.”

“Rosie. How was your summer anyway? Did you go to Switzerland?”

“Yeah, it was great. I’ll show you the photos. Did you get away?”

“Brighton for three weeks. I got you some rock.” She bent down to rummage for it and Ros squeaked.

“New teacher coming.” Then she lifted her voice and yelled it out across the room.

At once everyone scrambled for their seats. Emli sighed and dumped her books on the desk in front of Ros. Azella was still standing beside Tasha, looking bewildered. Ros darted out and pulled her over to the seat next to her and Emli turned her back on them to hide her grin.

The click of heels sounded on the steps and silence descended as everyone in the form focussed on the door. Their last form tutor, Mrs Khan, was universally acknowledged as one of the most kind-hearted, if less attentive, teachers in the school. It had not been until the then 10Y had managed to persuade her the summer holidays began three days earlier than they actually did and spent the extra free periods thus gained sunbathing on the back lawn that it had been decided she might do better with a younger form. 10Y had only been spared a month of detentions by the summer holidays but the lecture they had received had been scathing and many of their parents had not reacted well to the letters they had received in the aftermath. They all knew their next tutor would not be so kind-hearted.

The door opened and they all surged to their feet. In this situation, first impressions counted.

Their new teacher paused in the doorway for a moment and regarded them with an amused smile, one eyebrow raised. After a moment she crossed the room swiftly and set her files in precisely the centre of the chalk-stained desk. Then she turned and said, in a slightly husky voice, “Good morning, girls.”

11S, still out to impress, chorused, “Good morning.”

“My name is Miss Marsh. I shall be your form tutor this year and I shall also be teaching you English.”

So they had lost Mrs Khan for that as well. Emli, who had been one of the ringleaders, tried not to catch Viola’s eye and stared instead at Miss Marsh.

She was tiny and immaculate in a pale grey suit. She couldn’t have been much more than forty but her hair was completely white. It must have been long because it was pinned in a thick coil around the crown of her head, impossibly neat. Emli, whose curls stuck out at angles every time she tried that style, sighed enviously.

“Please sit down, girls.”

As they dropped she drew her own chair up and sat behind the desk, studying them. She still looked amused and Emli didn’t need to be told she hadn’t been fooled by the very demure form in front of her.

“I’m going to take the register and then we’ve got a number of start-of-term things to get through before assembly at ten. You will be starting classes from period five. There’s a few quick things I’d like to say first. This is a new year and a new start. I don’t know any of you, though I’m hoping to improve on that quite quickly. I’m going to base my first impressions of you as individuals and as a form on the way you behave over the next few weeks. This is a new year and, as far as all the staff are concerned, as fresh start for everybody. Please take advantage of that.”

“What’s that about?” Azella whispered behind her.

“I'll explain later,” Ros hissed back and Emli hunched her shoulders in annoyance. Of course they had to come from the same village, didn’t they? Though she’d bet Azella’s house was fancier than Rosie’s grandparents’ lovely, old, ramshackle cottage. She was probably miserable, though. That was the rule, surely. Poor kids were loved and rich kids came from cold homes. That was some comfort.

Miss Marsh was still speaking and Emli was half-listening. She’d heard it all before. Halfway through, the teacher hesitated, as if she had forgotten her lines.

I’m well aware that you have exams coming up and for many of you this will be a difficult year… Emli prompted her. She had spent the whole of yesterday afternoon patching her games’ kit and testing her on this speech.

Miss Marsh did not look at her but the tone of her thought was quelling. I remember perfectly well, thank you. I’m pausing for effect.

Yeah, right, Emli thought and ducked her head back down as she continued to hunt for Rosie’s rock. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad, after all.


Azella was bored. She had no idea what was actually going on and why everybody around her seemed guilty but it obviously wasn’t over anything life-threatening. The whole process was tedious beyond belief and classes hadn’t even started yet.

The woman at the front was calling out names now. Ah, a rollcall. Designed to stop the animals escaping, she supposed. She answered her name dutifully enough but she didn’t look up. The wide stretch of brick wall out of the window wasn’t a great view but there was the chance that something exciting might happen: a leaf could blow off a tree, perhaps, or a wasp fly past. She only thought to pay attention to the teacher when she noticed the silence.

The teacher was staring at her, the colour draining from her face and the the red pen trembling in her hand. Everyone else, sensing the tension, had fallen quiet. Azella shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had never met this woman before and she couldn’t understand why she should stare at her with such horror. She was beginning to wonder if there was some arcane law in this universe she was breaking without realising, what with unfriendly Emli and now this.

In front of her Emli’s back was stiff and she had pulled her plait round. By the tightness of her hair Azella could tell she was tugging on it unhappily. She just had time to think, something weird is going on here, before the teacher said, “You’re the other fresh face around here, aren’t you, Azella? It will be nice to have somebody equally new on my side.” Then she smiled and continued down the register to ‘Davies, Jessica.’

“What the hell was that about?” Ros muttered.

Emli turned round and Azella saw she had been right. The end of her plait was wrapped around her wrist. “Nerves, probably,” she said sharply. “Must be strange to have all these people staring at you. Particularly the ugly ones like Ros.”

“You can’t talk, Stripes,” Ros retorted.

Emli stuck her tongue out. “Shrimp. How’s the oxygen down there?”

Around them the noise level was rising steadily as Miss Marsh approached the end of the register.

A soft ‘ahem’ recalled them and they all turned to look at her.

“I know it’s dull, girls, and your summer holidays are obviously far more important and interesting than anything I have to say but the sooner we finish the sooner you can talk properly. I’m going to circulate a few copies of your timetables. Please note down the correct classes. While you’re doing that we need to vote for form prefects and school council reps so please start nominating people.”

“What if we can’t choose?” Viola asked.

“I shall stick a pin in the register.”

Everyone groaned and then Sara waved her hand in the air. “We haven’t got our homework diaries yet, Miss.”

“They’ll be coming round just ahead of the timetables,” Miss Marsh said smoothly but she flushed a little as she checked through her files.

Azella sighed and switched off again. She was awake enough to vote for Ros for form prefect though the other girl’s squawk of horror when she came back into the room made her wonder if it had been a good idea.

“You know how terrible I was last time,” she wailed as she flopped back into her seat. “I always forgot to get the bloody register.”

“Your memory’s better this time,” said Emli, whose idea it had been. “And I’ll remind you.”

She looked a lot more approachable when she was being friendly, Azella thought. So why was she so hostile?

“You do different options to me,” Ros said.

Emli snagged a passing timetable. “Let’s look. Okay, period five. P.E on Tuesday, Physics on Wednesday and English on Friday. So it’s only Monday and Thursday to worry about.”

Ros grabbed it off her. “Monday’s art and Thursday’s Sociology. You’re doing Sociology, aren’t you, Azella?”

She nodded and Emli shot her an irritated glance. So that was the problem. For Light’s sake, blondie. I have more important things to do with my life than steal your best friend. Get over it. Then Tasha said something incomprehensible to her and she had to turn to Ros for help and she added, Of course, if I may not be able to help it. I’m going to have to cling to Ros like I’m drowning.

Emli snapped her out of her reverie by passing the timetable to her. “You need to copy it down.”

Azella looked down at it blankly. It took a moment to work out that each large square represented a different lesson. She didn’t understand why there were seven different subjects listed in each slot. Ros had been called to talk to someone across the room and she wasn’t going to ask Emli for help. She looked down at it again and fiddled with her pencil.

“Do you know all your options?” Emli asked.

“Sociology and Business Studies.”

“Humanity? History, Geography or Cultural Studies?”

“Oh. History.” Eight of the boxes were marked history. Did she just pick at random?

Emli was watching her and she looked thoughtful now. She unwound her plait from her wrist and said, “Start with English and Science. Those are by form.” She pointed. “English, LM – that must be Miss Marsh, E – that’s the room, S – that’s us. There’s two of those.”

“I thought I’d already taken the entrance exam,” Azella muttered.

Emli smiled and then seemed to bite it back, as if annoyed with herself.

“Haven’t you lot finished with that yet?” Ellie said.

“Nearly,” Emli replied soothingly. Azella looked at her in disbelief. This thing would take hours to decode. Emli sighed and took the unopened diary from in front of her. “Give it here. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to,” Azella began stiffly but Emli was already writing rapidly. Within a couple of minutes she was waving the diary in front of her to dry the ink and had passed the timetable to the next row.

Azella looked down at the neatly filled boxes. “Are you sure this is right?”

“Positive. The big one will go up on the board later, though, so you’re quite welcome to check.” The other girl was stiff again and it was only then that Azella realised it sounded as if she had been doubting her rather than the system.

“I didn’t mean…” she began but Ros was back.

“We’ve got two weeks to plan an assembly,” she said. “Ideas welcome.”

“A what?” Azella said blankly.

“I’ll explain later,” Ros said.

That was becoming the refrain of the day, Azella thought drily.


After assembly, which Ros slept through and Azella spent staring around in disgust, and first break, which they spent trying to break a stick of rock with their compasses, they parted ways.

Emli watched Ros and Azella talking eagerly as they went off to their Sociology class and then sighed and made her way to the stables for Latin.

The school had been built in the gardens of an old Victorian mansion and the original house still housed the staff and sixth form. The old stables had been transformed into a storage shed for games equipment and the coachhouse beside it had become a toilet block. The coachman’s quarters above served as a small classroom. Heather and Viola had spent a dull hour the previous year working out just how many health and safety regulations it broke, with its single door and uneven flooring and its scent of damp books. Emli had laughed and agreed with them but secretly she loved it. Not for itself, to be honest, but for its view. The only entrance was through a low brick archway beside the coachhouse and then up a flight of metal steps that were coated with fallen leaves in the autumn. The other girls squealed and faltered their way up every time but Emli made a point of running up, despite the way the metal clanged and shifted under her feet. At the top, she would push past the overhanging branches and find the place where she could see the view.

The roofs spread before her. To the south east she could see the low roofs of the terrapins and the fences of the netball courts glinting in the sunlight. Beyond that the town of Wasingham itself lay before her, its roofs sloping down towards the banks of the Thames. To her, south west of where she stood, the main school building stood, two redbrick quads, to either side of the hall. The roofs looked so inviting, red tiles glowing warmly. Directly ahead of her was the real temptation. The cloakroom roof, though sloped, was solid and it ran in a long line from the wall beside her to brush against the corner of the main school. All she would need to do would be to sling herself over the knee high wall and run and the roofs would be hers.

The others had all made their way up while she had been dreaming and Heather squeezed through to her side.

“You’ll never actually do it,” she said.

“I will one day,” Emli said dreamily. She was feeling better.

“When?”

“After the exams. When it doesn’t matter if they kick me out.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. Can I share your book today?”

“Sure,” said Emli, who never forgot a textbook. “And I’d take your socks off, if I were you. Rolling them over like that doesn’t work.”

“Damn. Is it really obvious?”

“That they have little bunny faces on them? Yup.”

Heather sighed and sat down on the top step to unlace her shoes. “I forgot we were back today. How was I meant to find respectable socks when I only had five minutes to get up and get my bus?”

“Forethought and planning,” Emli said and folded her hands demurely.

“What are you doing?” Viola broke in, horrified. “Jones will be here any minute.”

“Taking my socks off.”

“What’s wrong with them?” That was Ola, from one of the other forms, leaning over to have a look. “Oh, cute. I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Emli noticed.”

“Emli’s weird.”

“Hey.”

Viola grinned and pulled Heather up. “Get inside and sit down, you idiot. Ola’s right. No one else will notice.”

“They’re always on such a uniform thing at the start of the year,” Heather said with a sigh and pushed her socks down even further.

There were only ten of them in the class but they managed to get Heather and her socks inside without any problems. Mrs Jones, who had no mercy, started them straight onto Juvenal. Emli, who had bothered to revise over the summer, had plenty of time to think as the others tried to drag the language out of their memories. She was beginning to wonder if she had been a little unfair. It was hardly Azella’s fault her face reminded Emli of her lost vashalar. She ought to make an effort to be friendly. After all, Mam always said, Never make an enemy at your back.

Then Mrs Jones noticed they were sharing a book and she forgot about Azella C’Tiri again.

It was not until she was clattering down the steps at the end of the class that she remembered and by then her mood had lifted enough that she didn’t care. She jumped the last few steps and swung round through the archway as Viola whimpered in horror and followed more sedately.

She could see Azella and Ros crossing between the main building and the covered way and raced along the side of the cloakroom to catch them.

“Ros, register.”

“I’ve already reminded her,” Azella said stiffly.

“She did,” Ros added.

Emli looked back towards the office, and asked, “So where is it?”

Ros looked at her blankly and then ran, shouting back, “I can’t believe I still forgot. I’ll catch you up.”

“I did remind her,” Azella said.

“Course you did,” Emli said and turned to look at her properly. It was still a shock but she fought it. They’d come too close to giving themselves away already today. “You always have to tell her twice, though. Dozy cow.”

“Rosiernanne has been very kind to me,” Azella said, scowling slightly.

No sense of humour, either, then. Emli sighed and said, “I say it to her face. Friends can. Come on. We’ve only got twenty-five minutes for lunch and I’m starving.”

Azella didn’t speak to her as they walked the rest of the way and she kicked at the leaves and thought, Stuck up. At least I’m trying now. Feeling virtuous, she asked, “So where are you from?” before she realised that might be a difficult question.

Azella cast a panicked glance back at Ros, who was running to catch up. Ros rolled her eyes slightly and after a moment Azella said, “Singapore.”

Well, that just confirmed all my suspicions about Ros, too. She bit back a wistful sigh. It would have been lovely to share the magic with Ros. If only it was safe…

Azella was still waiting for a reply and she said, piqued, “Cool. What were you doing out there?”

It seemed that Azella had practiced this because she said easily, “Oh, my guardians work for one of the big charities. They’ve been based out there a couple of years but they’ve been transferred back here.”

No parents, then? Not uncommon round here. “Which charity?”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it. They don’t advertise.”

“How do they raise funds then?” Viola said. “Di’s doing a canteen run if anyone wants chips.”

“Not for me,” Emli said as Azella looked bemused by the combination of subjects.

“Me, please,” Ros said, digging into her pockets for change. “Aren’t you meant to be buying lunch, Azella?”

“Aunt Anmi said to get something nutritious. Are chips nutritious?”

They all laughed and Diana, jingling money in her hand, said, “This is the school canteen. They don’t do nutritious.”

Emli left them to it and went in to grab her sandwiches before all the sunny bits of wall were claimed. When she came back Romy had joined them, slumped on the bottom step with a scowl.

“In trouble already?” Emli said, trying to balance herself on the very corner of the wall.

“I hate this school,” Romy said stormily and turned away. Azella eyed her with interest and Emli sighed to herself. She couldn’t keep Romy out of trouble, no matter how hard she tried. She had a nasty feeling she was dutybound to keep watch on Azella too. If she really was related to who she looked like she was related to then there was no question.

“Y’know,” she said aloud. “Even in my head my sentences don’t make sense.”

“Is that meant to be news?” Ros said and Emli rolled her eyes and pinched some of her chips.


Azella quickly discovered that the advantage of being at the front of the alphabet was that you could then ignore everything after your name. After a day in this place she thought the secret to surviving school was probably to assume if you needed to know something someone would remind you and forget everything else.

She had, despite, her expectations, rather enjoyed her Sociology class. She had lived in enough worlds that she enjoyed comparing societies and the arguments about gender and poverty had been rather fun. She had decided the best way to cope with Unfriendly Emli was to be silently amused and the others were good company, though inevitably shallow. She wondered vaguely what it would be like to have grown up without an awareness of Light and Dark and then dismissed the thought. The sun through the window was warm on her neck and she thought that maybe, just maybe, she would survive this. There was only one thing missing.

Lazily, she stretched her thoughts out across the town and prodded at her brother’s mind.

Azella? he flashed warily.

Who else? How is it?

Fun. I’ve done assembly and chemistry and I burnt a fantastic hole in my blazer.

She would never understand boys. And the other boys? Are they nice?

They’re all nutters. Yours?

She assumed that meant he was happy and sighed. Okay. Mostly.

Try not to make too many enemies, Zolly.

She smiled a little at the joke-name and sent back, If they’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to them.

Oh, help. Remember what Himself always says - Never make an enemy at your back.

I’m staring at her back, Azella said demurely.

Tell me about it later, yeah. I’m about to get yelled at. History lesson. And his attention was gone before she could apologise for forgetting he had a different timetable.

She looked up to find everyone packing up their bags and Miss Marsh staring at her thoughtfully. For a moment Azella met her gaze. She found herself flinching at the dark sorrow in those eyes and leapt to her feet scrabbling at her books. As they trotted over to their next class, half an hour of English, she found herself wondering. Her teacher’s eyes had looked like Aunt Anmi’s and Himself’s and Lord M’s, as if she had seen such horror that nothing would ever seem clean again. Only the degree of the sorrow had been different. Even Himself didn’t seem so deeply bound by grief.

Yet as she watched the woman teach, she seemed utterly unremarkable. It was only her eyes that marked her. Wondering, Azella decided she really ought to study the recent history of Annah-Dareq 331. She had no idea what had happened during the war here. Anywhere else she would be less surprised to see a woman of that broken generation but she had thought this world had gone untouched.

Then Miss Marsh asked her a question and she stammered and then scowled at herself. It seemed she would have to pay attention or appear a fool.

Their next class was chemistry and here awful Emli actually proved of use. Ros, it seemed, did not understand chemistry at all and Emli spent most of the lesson hissing simplified explanations to her. Azella, on Ros’s other side, pretended not to listen but actually left the class with some understanding of this odd variant of alchemy, although she had no opportunity to put holes in her uniform. She even smiled tentatively at Emli and was surprised to receive a cheery grin in return. The blonde evidently liked this class.

The truce ended after that. It was perfectly natural to offer Ros a lift – they lived in the same bloody village, after all. Ros darted a worried glance at Emli but accepted.

Emli crouched down in front the lockers, banging around in hers noisily, before emerging with a ragged pair of running shoes. She flourished them triumphantly and Ros protested, “Em, those are rancid.”

“But comfortable,” she said and carried them back to her own desk. Azella had no doubt that the swing which passed them directly under her own nose was quite deliberate. She stepped back and said, meeting spite with spite, “Elegance is not a strong point, then?”

“Not classy enough for you?” Emli snapped. “This is a state school. You have to expect to meet a few poor people, however much it offends you.”

“I didn’t say anything about how much they cost,” Azella retorted. “I just meant that they stink.”

“The implication was there,” Emli said as she shoved her school shoes into her bag. “See you tomorrow, Ros.”

Ros grabbed her arm. “Walk to the gate with us. Please, Emli.” And she glared at Azella.

Azella, who hadn’t started it, folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. Emli snorted and headed for the door. Ros, after another glare, raced after her. Azella followed at her own speed. She had never realised how much fun it was to be obnoxious. It relieved the dullness, anyway.

Ros was waiting by the car, still anchoring Emli beside her. It was Aunt Anmi with the small car this time and she was leaning against the side, chatting to Ros, her hands darting through the air as she spoke. Azella brightened at the sight of her and quickened her pace. Aunt Anmi was always sympathetic.

“Chuck your bags in the back, kid,” her aunt said cheerfully. “I was just trying to persuade Emli here to let us give her a lift. What do you think?”

Azella shrugged and went round to the other side of the car.

“It’s okay, really,” Emli said. “I like the exercise.”

“Even on the first day of term? Come on, where do you live?”

“Parktown,” Emli said stiffly. “Honestly, it only takes me ten minutes or so.”

“If you’re sure. Right, in you get, girls. Hope to meet you again, Emli.”

Azella, scrambling into the back of the car, wished the opposite.


As soon as the car drew away Emli began to run. Her bag thumped comfortably against her back and she welcomed the slap of her feet on the path. The car passed her as she waited at the crossing over Richmond Street, on the other side of the school. Ros waved at her and she lifted her hand in reply, her mood easing a little. Ros was faithful, even if she had terrible taste in friends. New friends, that was.

She was over the road and now she could speed up, pounding past the hospital and the grand Georgian terraces opposite. The rest of her friends seemed to have adopted Azella on Ros’s say-so. Fine. So the brat was now part of the group. She could cope with that. Romy annoyed her a lot of the time but it didn’t matter. They were hers and she had to protect them. She was never again going to let a friend die without her. Of course, protecting a spoilt mage-brat could be more challenging.

It was that face, too. She couldn’t take the risk that it was coincidence. I’ll do this for you, Wolf, she thought. I do it because she looks like you. I wasn’t good enough to keep you safe from the Dark but I’m better now. I’ve learnt more. I’ll make sure she stays alive just in case she would have meant something to you. I miss you, vashalar.

With that she could no longer hold back the memories. She could remember the day Wolf fell in the river, how he had surfaced spluttering and laughing, his hair darkened to brown by the water, She had leant over to help him out and he had pulled her in beside him. She remembered days spent ambling through the derelict parts of Frilsey, where everyone knew them. They had played at Light and Dark and cops and Warren. One summer, an old gun turret had become their castle and they had taken it in turns to be kings and mages and knights. There had been quieter times too, curled at Mam’s side as she told them stories of lost worlds in her husky voice or made them practise their C’Tiri.

Then the Dark had come.

Her cheeks were wet and she blamed the wind for stinging her eyes. She was almost at the crossroads now. The traffic was queued up to pass the cemetary and she wasn’t surprised to see Azella’s aunt’s car in the jam. She waved as she slowed towards the crossing and Azella’s aunt wound her window down and called, “You sure you don’t want a lift?”

She shook her head. “It’s just round the corner now. Thanks.” Then she speeded up again, darting between the lines of cars.

As she ran along the side of the park, towards the railway bridge, they passed her again and she waved for the third time. Then she turned off the main road. Narrow Victorian terraces ran down towards the river. Some were half derelict. There were no gardens here, just stubby patches of grass and chunks of abandoned machinery. She could hear arguments drifting out the windows, children shrieking and music pounding loudly. It was a warm day and all the windows were open and a faint scent of beer and cannabis hung over the whole area. There was already a police car parked on the corner and she skirted it warily. Round here it wasn’t wise to be seen giving them respect.

There was another ‘To Let’ sign in the window and she wondered who the old harridan had kicked out now. Probably the old Turkish couple in the basement flat. She’d been screaming at them a lot recently and they were too poor to pay for any extras. She probably had someone else lined up for the room.

Emli extracted her key from her purse and let herself in, easing the door open gently so the hinges wouldn’t squeal. She closed it carefully and began to make her way towards the hall. She could smell the sharp staleness of their landlady’s room and managed to reach the stairs in silence. She couldn’t face a tirade, not today.

She knew where all the creaking steps were and managed to avoid them. She made it to the first floor in safety and, relieved, rushed the rest of the way to the attic. There she let herself in to their little flat.

It was small and grimy and cold but it was cheap and the lack of paperwork meant no one could trace them here. She’d rather have safety than comfort. Today, with the sunlight shining through the skylights on the bare floorboards, it looked almost welcoming. She dumped her bag on the tatty sofa and kicked her shoes into the corner before heading off to the little kitchenette to put the kettle on. Mam would want a cup of tea.

She was settled at the rickety table, Latin texts spread out before her, when she heard the click of the door.

“What’s the password?” she called lightly.

“Earl Grey tea, I hope,” the familiar, husky voice said and Miss Marsh slipped past her towards the kitchen. “How was your day, darling?”

Emli considered it for a moment before saying, “Bloody awful.”

Her mother laughed and returned from the kitchen with a steaming cup. “Oh? Tell all, child. Tell all.”